


A Guide to Valentine's Day (and how to exploit it)

by Silverstar1



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Brotp, But it's set during their college days, Comedy, Comfort No Hurt, Epic Friendship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Except they remain platonic throughout, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friendship, I tried anyway, John (a tired aro/ace): will there be pancakes?, John (tempted): I am considering your offer, John is Tired, Let it be known that the author cannot write comedy very well, Penelope is amazing, Penelope: there could be, Penelope: would you like to go on a fake date with me?, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Canon, Set pre-International Rescue, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, You Have Been Warned, fashion references only the author doesn't know anything about fashion, so not really an au, so pretty standard for these two, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29433951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverstar1/pseuds/Silverstar1
Summary: “John, darling,” Penelope announced brightly. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”“No.”“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Not a romantic date.”In which John and Penelope pretend to go on a date to make the most of the discounts offered on meals for couples, because Valentine’s Day is about all kinds of love, including the platonic kind.
Relationships: Lady Penelope Creighton Ward & John Tracy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	A Guide to Valentine's Day (and how to exploit it)

**Author's Note:**

> If (like me) you are perpetually single, then here, I'll be your virtual Valentine. Consider this fic your gift!
> 
> Here are a couple of notes before we get into the fic:
> 
> This is set during their college (university) days. These two are entirely platonic. Personally, I'm going with the headcannon of John being aro/ace, but I don't think I specify that throughout this fic so you can interpret everything however you want :)

John had a set plan for how to get through this weekend unbothered, undisturbed, and (most importantly) uninvolved with any of the romantic exploits occurring across campus. He'd never been so grateful to have a room to himself – he'd spotted far too many socks on door handles on his way back from the lecture hall and, given the crowd of sulking singles in the communal kitchen, those still occupying the sock-adorned rooms were planning to kick their roommates out for the entire weekend. Beyond that first semester at Harvard, John hadn't had to worry about walking in on any roomies getting freaky, and he planned to keep it that way – one of the many reasons why he had been more than happy to pay for the upgrade to a single last September.

So. His plan was simple: remain in his room, only venture out when strictly necessary (such as being at risk of starvation when his supply of bagels under the bed ran out or his pitifully slow coffee-machine finally gave up the ghost), keep his head down and bury himself in work. It wasn't as if he didn't have enough of it to be getting on with. He'd been going back over his lecture notes with a highlighter and flashcards for the past two hours and he still had an essay on the morals of human spaceflight to write with a minimum wordcount of 8k. He could only pray that the coffee machine took mercy on him and held out long enough for him to pull an all-nighter and get his work handed in on time, because while he didn't mind waiting in queues in cafes at the crack of dawn, he'd rather do it when he didn't have an essay hanging over his head like a particularly depressing axe.

His plan did not factor in Penelope. See, this was why he should never make friends – they were distracting and inconvenient and always barged into his room without warning, normally when he was finally making headway in a study session such as this one. He lowered his highlighter to avoid staining the desk and arched a brow as the door swung open so violently it left indents in the opposite wall. Penelope didn't seem too concerned by this. She was a bundle of rosy-cheeked excitement, the soft blond curls of her latest hairstyle that was currently all the rage in Vogue dancing over the edges of a cashmere scarf.

"John, darling," she announced brightly. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

John capped his highlighter. "No."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Not a romantic date." She pranced further into the room, knocking the door shut behind her with one ridiculously heeled ankle boot. When you were just scraping five-foot, such sacrifices were necessary, including causing permanent pain to your feet. "No, I'm talking about a pretend date." She flopped onto his bed in a very undignified heap of flapping coattails, wavering cashmere, and creaking mattress springs. "You see, there are a lot of discounted meals for couples tonight, given the entire," she waved a hand, "Valentine event."

"Valentine's Day is an event created by a capitalist society to exploit naïve lovers, why would I ever want to subsidise it?" John swung around in his desk chair to face her.

Penelope sighed. "Yes, yes, it's very admirable how you're trying to maintain whatever persona it is that you've decided to entertain this year, but the point is – discounted food." She laid her hands in her lap, crossed her ankles neatly, and tilted her head in question. John tried not to roll his eyes. One simply did not roll their eyes at Penelope Creighton-Ward unless they had a death-wish. He'd spent far too much money on his degree for that.

"Will there be pancakes?" he asked finally, trying to inject as many notes of long-suffering into his voice as possible so that she knew he was displeased. "I will consider coming if there are pancakes. And coffee."

Penelope's eyes gleamed. She knew she'd caught him. He was a fish on a hook and all she had to do was reel him in. John wondered at what point he'd accepted his fate. He cast a final regretful glance at his empty laptop screen and the pitiful zero wordcount.

"Will there be pancakes?" he repeated, giving in entirely but unprepared to provide Penelope with the satisfaction of knowing she'd won so easily.

Penelope shuffled a little closer to the edge of the bed and reached out to catch his hand. "There could be," she agreed, with a light squeeze of his fingers. She was wearing gloves so soft that she may well have stolen the fur straight off a chinchilla's back.

John thought of the pancakes and the numerous toppings and the sweet, merciful coffee that was doubtlessly waiting for him somewhere across town. He looked at Penelope's earnest (scheming) face. Well. Everyone already assumed that they were dating, and if he had to suffer the downsides of that constant misunderstanding (other students cornering him in the kitchen and asking far too intimate questions that made him want to drop his entire astrophysics degree and take up chemistry instead just so he could invent mind bleach) then he may as well get to experience the benefits too, including, apparently, discounted food. Also, he was both hungry and cheap. Most of his funds had gone into this room. Meal deals sounded good, even if he would be forced to watch other couples sucking the souls out of their partners' mouths.

"I'm considering your proposal," he admitted.

Penelope giggled. "Now there's an idea. Do you think we would get free champagne if we got engaged?"

"I'm not asking you to marry me."

She swatted his knee. "Of course not, don't be so archaic." There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that promised nothing good. John waited for the punchline. "I will be the one proposing to you."

And there it was. John heaved himself out of his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Where are we going? Do I have to dress up? I have exactly one suit and I think it may be stained from that time you borrowed the blazer and got lipstick on the cuff."

"This isn't a suit place," Penelope assured him. She gestured to herself. "Besides, do I look particularly fancy?"

"Yes," John shot back without missing a beat. "Penelope, you're wearing cashmere. I'm seventy-percent sure that your shoes are Gucci."

"These are Prada, you heathen."

He tossed a hand up, turning back to his wardrobe. "I hope you realise that you're only proving my point further. You're not winning here."

"Aren't I?" Penelope tugged the hoodie that was draped over his bed into her lap. "You've agreed to go on a fake date with me. I get to enjoy a pleasant meal, and everyone will assume you're my boyfriend which will save me from being harassed by strangers. I fail to see how I am losing at anything tonight in any way." She pressed the hoodie against her cheek. "You have to tell me what soap powder you use, because not only does this smell great, but it's also insanely soft. I may have to steal it."

"You steal my hoodies and wear them around campus and then you have the audacity to turn around and claim not to know why people think we're dating."

She smiled innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know exactly what you're doing." John finally tracked down his smartest pair of jeans and started the hunt for a shirt that didn't sport a science pun or NASA logo. "You enjoy all of this deep down. You love messing with everyone."

"Me? Mess with someone?"

"Penny, you made me bridal-carry you across campus because you were too lazy to put on your shoes. When people questioned it, you said we'd eloped the night before."

Penelope's hands flew to her mouth but weren't quick enough to stifle her laugh. "Oh, hush. That was one time, and you found it funny too."

"I neither confirm nor deny that." He stared at her expectantly. "Are you going to sit there and watch while I change, or…?"

"Yes."

He tugged his NASA tee over his head with a sigh. "Well now I'm self-conscious."

"Liar."

"I hate you."

"Liar."

He hissed at her. Penelope beamed at him and curled up on his bed, thumbing through his copy of Shakespearean classics and adding pencil notes to his tabbed pages. John knocked her feet off the mattress as he stepped past to grab his coat from the hook on the back of the door. Penelope drew a heart on the post-it note stuck to the cover of the book and slid off the bed, trying to glimpse her reflection in the tiny mirror in the corner.

"How's my makeup?"

"Immaculate," John informed her, and offered her the purse she'd dropped on his desk. "Shall we?"

Penelope looped her arm through his with a laugh. "Always the gentleman."

"Well, I have to make up for my date. You see, she's a bit of a scoundrel. Ow, ow, okay," he yelped as she deliberately trod on his toes, "jeez, I'm sorry, I take it back. You are an absolute darling and not at all the bane of my existence."

"I want pasta," Penelope told him.

"And I want pancakes." John let her lead him out the door. "Have a place in mind?"

"Possibly."

He ducked his head as they passed the cluster of mildly drunk students loitering in the quad, wincing at the chorus of wolf-whistles directed after them as people recognised Penelope. Penelope merely held her head high and slid her hand into his.

"If it really bothers you so much – being mistaken for a couple – then we could just pick up a takeaway and head back to your room. Or mine. But yours is preferable because my roommate has a date over."

John shook his head. "Nah. I can't subject my fake girlfriend to a takeaway on Valentine's Day. We've got to go for a proper meal, possibly even a movie afterwards if I'm feeling generous, although that depends entirely on the quality of my pancakes."

Penelope smiled and squeezed his hands. "Are you sure?"

John caught her eye. "Positive." He grinned. "Just don't ask me to marry you."


End file.
